


Animal

by WishfullyThinking



Category: Chronicles of Riddick Series, Riddick (2013), The Chronicles of Riddick: Assault on Dark Athena
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Genderbending, Lesbian Relationships, Multi, Murder, Rachel B. Riddick, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:33:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishfullyThinking/pseuds/WishfullyThinking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel B. Riddick; Escaped Convict-- Murderer. This follows the chronicles of a female Riddick and her way to her destiny. Murder, violence, lesbian and heterosexual relationships. Genderbent Riddick. Trying to stay as close as possible to canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You mother tried to kill you when you were a baby. She strangled you with your birth-cord. God knows how you survived."

Imagine telling this to a small child. Barely at the age of seven, just barely out of kindergarten. Rachel didn't understand what it meant, at first, but after asking around the orphanage, she knew. She also understood there were some things you didn't tell a small child. This was one of those things.

Especially when said child was in the penal system's education— prison education for all you illiterate types. The planet she was dropped off on was Helion 2, in the Helion System along with its brother, Helion Prime. Helion 2 was not as fortunate as its brother was at the time. The planet thrived with thieves, rapists, murderers and the like. Rachel often cursed the fool that brought her here, but was also happy that they didn't bring her to an even more dilapidated planet like Asylum, where THEM were founded.

She didn't know too much about THEM, only that every planet they touched turned into ash, and was the cause for the newest destruction on a planet named Furya.

Rachel didn't know much about Furya other than the legends and gossip the children and teachers whispered about. Humanoid creatures more animal than human, a war-like and defiant race that was keen on keeping their freedom. It was years ago, but it was the most recent attack on a planet thus- far. THEM must be gearing up to take another planet.

As she grew, Rachel was interested about THEM and the Furyans. But she had no information to go on other than the lies she had gathered, and thus forgot about them for a while at least. There was something, an urge, she felt. Something pulling her towards that planet. But she was much too young to go out on her own, and she didn't know how to pilot a ship. Plus, even though she was probably much hardier than any other child in the school, she was frightened.

Humans, the collective race that used to belong to Earth, usually had something to cling to, something worthwhile. The only thing Rachel had was her survival, and that was something she had to a low opinion. If her mother was so keen to kill her, what was her reason to be alive anyways?

For whatever reason, she kept herself alive. Any time she felt like something was going to bring her down to the very depths of her self-worth, the tiny droplet of pride she had for herself and suck it up, she would defend herself. She'd throw tantrums, claw, kick, and fight til' the teachers dragged her away or she was beaten down by another kid.

"There's something wrong with her," They said, "A violent sociopath."

She had to agree, there was something wrong with her, but she wouldn't go so far as "sociopath". Some said she had the gaze of predator, as if searching for a piece of meat. She took this as a compliment, flashing her teeth and bobbing her head without comment. She liked being different than them; what more could she say?

Then came the visions. At first, she thought they were the hallucinatory effects of jet. She was careful with the shit, though. She'd seen plenty of girls and guys knocked on their asses by the stuff, and didn't wanna wake up knocked up with a guy's kid.

Once she started seeing them outside of her drug sessions in the dump, she knew that she was much different than just being wild. Of course, what could she say to the nurse about it? She was seventeen, going on eighteen. They already thought she was a sociopath and likely to kill someone in the future, what would they say to hallucinations and visions? Off to the Looney-Bin with her.

So she kept quiet about it. She had nothing really to say, nothing that anyone else would understand anyways. She was a lone animal, with no friends unless you counted the guys you got drunk and high with, and those were the people she cared less about.

One night, after a drink or two, she returned to the dorms and slapped herself onto her bed, ready to sleep when she heard it again. The whispering.

"Goddamnit." She turned over in her bunk, "Not right now."

 _"Riddick."_ One said, its voice so quick she almost thought she didn't hear it.

"Fuck off." She pulled the covers around her, head pounding with the whispering. Sometimes she wished she wasn't so different.

 _"Awake."_ Said another, jolting her from how close it sounded. She hissed, but quickly quieted when a girl stirred across the room. Sighing, she stood, dragging her bare feet across the cool floor until she went outside. The wind was subtle, just barely tickling her shoulder-length hair.

 

_"Riddick."_

She followed the voices down the sidewalk and climbed over the gate. Luckily the security was low that night; they must have been circling the perimeter at the time. Rachel dodged a homeless man muttering at nothingness, a trash-can fire throwing eerie shadows on the ravaged and bent fence that surrounded the penal system.

_"Here."_

She turned, spinning on her heel. The voices sounded urgent now, pushing her towards her destination. She didn't know where she was going, she hardly ever ventured beyond the gates of the penal system unless it meant drugs or drinks, or a combination of the two. She felt caged and weak with a fence surrounding her, but the wild beast in her had been padlocked down. As much as she loved to be free, she wanted the privileges that came with being bound. Besides, she hated being sent to solitary.

"You're almost there, Riddick." It said. That was probably the longest sentence the vision ever said to her. She felt her pace pick up, turning into a jog as she followed the whispers with the repercussions pushed out of her mind. Whatever the voices were leading her, it must be important.

Instantaneously, the voices stopped, and Rachel skidded to a halt. She saw nothing of significance there, only a few men throwing luggage into the back of their space shuttle and a few night-owls walking around, but nothing that screamed 'destiny'.

"I really must be insane." She slapped a hand over her eyes, sliding down on a street-light to rest her feet for the moment. She stayed there for at least fifteen minutes, until she heard footsteps approach her. She did not fight, but merely peered through her fingers to gaze at the person. He was a young man, probably a recruited ranger for the military judging him by his uniform. He seemed curious, almost concerned by her figure. She growled, which startled the boy, which amused her enough to let out a little barking laugh.

"W-what are you doing here?" He asked after collecting himself. Rachel stood suddenly, cocking a brow at the young man.

"A bunch of voices in my head told me to. What're you doing here?" She snorted. This either amused the boy or caused him to worry more, but whatever it was, she hated the expression on his face.

"I've been recruited to the military. I'm a ranger." He pointed to the badge on his chest.

"I figured as much." She snorted, then paused. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen." He cocked his head, "Why, are you thinking of joining?"

This must have been what she was led here for; to be taken off planet and gain training. She had a hunch that by joining the rangers, she would learn how to fly a ship. That was reason enough for her. "It's crossed my mind."

"Well, the Company isn't for the weak," He admitted after a moment of fiddling with his rifle.

"Are you implying something?" She stood up straighter; her broad shoulders making her appear wider. She learned this technique of intimidation during ecology class, when a wolf would terrorize another wolf in order to assume dominance.

"U-Uh, of course not!" He waved his free hand while taking a few well measured steps back. "I mean, are you going to join? I could talk to my squad leader, if you want."

"I'd appreciate that." She nodded, keeping up the stance while following him over to the shuttle.

"How should I introduce you Miss…?"

"Riddick." She finished, deciding for whatever reason the voices were calling her that instead of her first name, was important. "Just Riddick."

*()*()*()*

Sigma 3 was a bastard planet five systems away from Helion 2, with a moon that held a prestigious Academy, which was something Riddick wasn't too proud to say she was working towards. She was unlucky enough to be assigned to that bastard planet, however, and her main duty was to rid the tunnels of the Spitfires. Spitfires were these little shits that could practically see in the dark with venomous spit and big-ass claws, so of course no one wanted to be the short straw to go out there and lure them out of hiding so another two could kill it. It didn't help that they breeded like rabbits and ate like them too; always stealing shit and eating people. Christ, no wonder people didn't like to live there.

The ranger team played dice to choose who'd be the unlucky son of a bitch to go out there be the decoy, and after a few times of getting her back and arms ripped to shit by those monsters, she was quick on the uptake to learn to cheat. Cheating was something you'd get a slap on the wrist back in the penal system. Out here, you'd might as well slit your throat. But it wasn't so bad, at least she wasn't one of the civilians out there.

Civilians weren't allowed weapons of any kind, the Company saying that it was a "security hazard", which she could understand to a point, but with all the slimy little bastards tromping around under people's homes, you'd think they'd give them a little more peace at mind. But no, they didn't.

As the tour over the planet continued, she noted the lack of empathy the Company had towards the occupants of the planet. They were treated like shit and they acted like shit right back. She wasn't even an enforcer and she got attacked by civilians left and right. Of course, she had the right to defend herself, but she never murdered a civilian. She decided to save that honor for someone else.

After saving a sorry ass on her squad, she was finally promoted to the Strikeforce Academy, much to her displeasure and optimism. She had surprised herself past learning how to fly a shuttle; she became a work of art, so to speak. She was almost super-human, strength and speed something steroid-cats would die for. But she didn't flaunt it… too much.

Not only was her body affected, but her mind was too. She learned a great deal at the Academy. A bunch of pigs they may be, but they knew what they were doing. They knew how to make monsters. Only, they didn't account for an animal instead.

But not that she didn't enjoy the treats from time to time, but she hated how the civilians were treated when she was yet again assigned back on Sigma 3. Not only was she treated even more like shit, but got to see the Enforcers treat the civilians like dogs.

Worse— slaves.

Of course, she decided to speak out against this tyranny as soon as she had enough evidence to support her claim. But of course like all big bad business-types, her shouts were ignored and her evidence destroyed. Being sent to prison was the last thing she expected through this ordeal, but it seemed she was prepared for it after all.

*()*()*()*

Deep Storage was a shit-and-piss hole, alright. They were right to say you didn't want to go there.

Deep Storage, or Ribald S., was pretty much Hell's hand basket. You had your rapists, drug-addicts, ex-mercs, murderers, and whatever hell cons you found out in the wastes of space. Sigma 3 looked like preschool playground compared to this place.

It was very low-tech, going back to the twenty-first century technology of imprisonment, which meant no hacking through doors or crawling through vents. You just had to deal with the fact you were now basically fucked. But not Riddick, no. Never her.

You see, being caged up as a child is never a good idea to put a kid through. Especially one that kicked and bit and fought back. You had to force etiquette on them. And guess what? When you set that animal, that toned and improved animal in a new environment built just for their kind, well… you had a new problem.

Like, where do you put all the bodies?

Maybe that was being a little overdramatic, for she never actually killed inside the prison. Of course, she always had the potential to be, she would definitely beat the shit out of you in a heart-beat if you even gave her the slightest inclination you were a threat. But most knew, after she took down the Alpha in the prison, not to mess with her.

Even the guards learned a thing or two about her in that time, for she never was actually caught in the act. Never was she seen on film hurting anyone, or even holding a weapon, which made her all the more dangerous. The unknown was dangerous.

Perhaps that was why they finally decided to throw her into solitary, just to see what she would do. It wasn't a good idea to have just three guards escorting her either, for she easily overpowered the first and shot the other two, in the non-vitals, of course. She still didn't see the three as a threat; she had gotten a hold on this… instinct of hers. Who to kill and who not to. The guards might have been a threat, but a meager one at that.

She quickly masqueraded as a guard and stole the only prison's space freighter to escape, and was somewhat proud that she escaped so easily. They should have tried to put her in solitary sooner.

The news that The Company put a million-credit contract on her was news. Becoming a wanted woman on five planets in three systems was indeed exciting as well. She had never been so popular before.

Of course, now she would have to disguise herself in order to evade capture. She still had shoulder-length hair, something that had remained even after she had joined the Company all those years ago. It represented the remaining childhood, the past. Maybe that's why she shaved it off so eagerly— and so crudely.

For whatever purpose, she was free now of those bonds. She wasn't so much of a human anymore— she was an animal.

*()*()*()*

The news of her bounty spread quickly, of course. Who wouldn't want a million credits for her head? She was quite proud to say almost every bounty-hunter and merc went after her in the space lanes. Of course, whenever she killed them, their deaths were added to her contract.

Her first kill was Philip P. Norwood, some back-water merc that couldn't keep his hands to his bloody self. It wasn't an all-together battle either; there were multitudes of skirmishes and fights that sometimes she would get weary of. Sometimes he'd tried to bait her out with captives, sometimes with banter. She was never fazed but in the end, she kidnapped him and killed him, dumping his remains unceremoniously in a tar pit.

Then there was Colin W. Grant and Benton Ju, similar stories with similar endings. Since they were all a part of the same Merc Guild, her price was tripled. Each merc they threw at her, she cut down, and her price went up. It was amusing, at times. Sometimes she lost track of her number.

Sometimes she evaded capture, sometimes she got caught. Those times, she would break free, but of course, sometimes she didn't. She spent a bit of time in multiple slams, escaping them with relative ease. Seems like she had a knack for escape, seeking the weakness in the system. It was like being back in the Penal System again.

Then there was Slam City, or Ursa Luna Max Prison, a huge ass-prison set on a planet in the boonies of space. She had been taken off guard by a pair of hired guards, something she commended them on later, but quickly escaped afterwards. She even had the time to steal a pack of menthols before escaping into the prison and to the hangar, where she escaped on another ship. She only spent eleven hours and twenty-two minutes in that prison. An all-time record she was hoping to break.

Of course, she had the opportunity when she met Johns.


	2. Chapter 2

Johns had been one of the mercs to respond to the distress signal from Slam City, who had become so afraid of her that they urged the mercs to take her to Hubble Bay Penal Facility, or any-place else that wasn't Slam City for that matter. It amused her greatly, to see a warden like that, shivering over the broadcast as he stuttered and tripped over words. The amusement didn't last long, since the mercs began showing up.

They were careful not to completely destroy the ship, but left it just incapacitated enough that it was impossible for her to pilot it anywhere; so she just had to float in the dark recess of space until one of the mercs had the balls to do a little space-walk (or EVA, if you like technical terms) to her ship, pry open the lock and hope she didn't explode from the de-pressurization. Then they would have to wrangle her into cuffs and then space-walk all the way back to their ships to properly secure her in her bindings.

The ones who tried first were the first to have their helmets ripped off and kicked out into the cold, sucking blackness of space and have their eye-balls forcibly jerked from their skulls when they imploded. Johns, however, was a little more prepared and a little cleverer than the rest. He attached hooks to her hull and reeled her ship in before attacking her. She had to admit she was a bit impressed, and unbearably irritated. The blue-eyed snake had done his homework on her, strapping her down almost excessively when he finally caught her.

"Not too tight, I'm guessing?" He asked, pulling tightly on the bands. She didn't miss the amused expression on his face, even through the grate that kept her from biting his ears off.

She pursed her lips, her voice rumbling and low. "Just right."

He slumped into the pilot's seat, pressing buttons and slowly accelerating. Riddick took this time to take account of her settings. It was a cramped ship, about wide enough for four or five people to squeeze into. It was probably for brief missions, or a shuttle for a larger ship. It was also definitely a merc ship, with all the cuffs lying around and the drugs. This guy was no law-man.

"What's my bounty at now?" She clicked her tongue, "Four, five million?"

The merc turned in his seat, studying her with those bright blue eyes of his. He tilted his head, his lips curling up in an amused smirk. "You're close. About six million now."

She shifted in her seat, conveying exasperation. "All that for little old me?"

"I wouldn't call you old, Rachel." He cocked his head, his eyes going up her frame. "Or little. You're probably the most wanted con in space right now. Perhaps behind Grande Hortez, but not behind that much."

"Looks like I'll have to change that." Her lips twitched. "Rachel?"

He rested his elbows on his knees, "Suppose I should introduce myself. I'm William J. Johns, ex-marine, mercenary."

"Rachel B. Riddick, escaped convict— murderer." She smiled, her voice vicious with a contemplative growl. "Call me Riddick, because we're not on a first-name basis. If we were, you'd have to take me out to dinner first, Billy-boy."

"Alright, Riddick." He spun his chair back to the screen, pointedly ignoring the sarcasm. "We're off to Hubble Bay. What exactly did you do to scare the warden so badly they didn't want you?"

"Lurked around the prison a while, killed a few people before I escaped." She shrugged, "They're probably just a bunch of pussies, is all."

He let out a sarcastic laugh, "Let's see if Hubble Bay handles you any better."

"I doubt it." She grumbled, letting her head rest against the cool steel of her face guard, drifting off to sleep.

*()*()*()*

Of course Hubble Bay couldn't handle her. At least, not for very long.

Hubble Bay was basically a floating citadel of a slam in the middle of space. Ships constantly were docking to refuel and transfer prisoners. It was practically slave-trade, really. Riddick thought she saw one man check another man's teeth, like a jockey would do to his horse, but that was probably for the pat-down.

Turrets lined the walls of the citadel, probably one of the cleanest slams she had been to yet. That didn't mean that the prisoners were, however. Dope-heads and killers, sometimes the de-lousing wouldn't do the trick and then you had a lice epidemic on your hands. Luckily, she didn't stick around too long. Didn't like the smell of the place; it was a cage, a clean and gaudy one, but a cage all the same.

It was simple. Grab a guard during transfer, drag him back before any of the turrets could see her, snap his neck and take his uniform. He was also handling a pistol which had not been DNA-encoded, to her luck. All she had to do then was slip past the rest of the pigs and grab a shuttle off the prison. And she succeeded, maybe with a few bumps here and there, but otherwise made it onto a ship without too much trouble.

Unfortunately, Johns was a persistent man. When he heard that Riddick had escaped again, he high-tailed it over to her part of space and began tracking her contrails. When she got word of that and shut that down, he began tracking her sensor ghosts, almost invisible trails from her ship that could be detected if you had the right tech. But she put up a damn good fight, she admitted. She got him to chase her around the goddamn galaxy and back before he managed to corner her on a street when she was looking to get something to eat; she might be a con and a ex-soldier, but she couldn't go indefinitely without food.

She had been chowing down on some of the noodles down by the shittier side of the city, stuffing her face with a slice of steaming and freshly baked bread. Riddick was resting on a dumpster, one leg bent and the other swinging off the edge. She must have been chewing too loudly, or perhaps Johns had a new pair of those fancy noise-cancelling shoes for those who can't make themselves be quiet, when he snuck up on her. She didn't go down without a fight however, making a shit-ton of noise while they battled it out.

Whatever it was, she had this instinct, this sense that Johns was an alpha. Not quite like herself, she supposed. There was grace in his movements, his prowl. The way he looked at prisoners. Oh, she knew that they were not peers. She knew that, whatever it was that was bringing him down, made him weaker. He didn't know the pain he inflicted on others, but he knew how to do it well. However, he was never excessively brutal to her or any of the other cons he brought in. She supposed that also displayed weakness too, and she was also somewhat insulted by it.

She fairly held her own for fifteen-minutes, alternating between running through the streets (it's called a tactical retreat, trying to lure him into the streets so either A, someone would misunderstand and take him down for her or B, hopefully lose him in the crowd.) and beating the shit out of him when they were locked in battle again. This worked for some time, of course, but eventually someone (probably a police officer or another merc) tasered her from behind.

Of course, that alone only jarred her enough to fall flat on her ass, but someone had the insight to bring a few tranquilizers to sedate her while they cuffed her. The tranqs didn't do too much; they were weak compared to her high tolerance to such drugs. The most it did was make her queasy and weak. This explained why she had the jarring sense to expel her recently consumed noodles onto Johns' shiny new boots, and let out a little bark-like laugh when she heard him groan in disgust. Soon she was slapped into a seat in a merc ship, extra bindings unlike the rest of the cons, and they began their way to a new prison.

A few of the prisoners recognized her, probably from her scowling face on all the WANTED boards. They hadn't even gotten her good side either.

"What's my number up to now?" She asked one con to the left, who shied his eyes away. She grunted, turning to the other prisoner, who simply stared.

"What is it?" She reinforced her question, voice laced with malice.

"T-Twenty mil." Said the fat man, chains clinking loudly as he shook; she cocked a brow at him. Probably in for tax fraud and made a run for it. Or maybe child pornography; He looked the type.

Riddick grinned; each tooth exposed revealing a bit of a challenge. "Bet I beat that Grande son-of-a-bitch, didn't I Johns?"

"You sure as hell did. Thanks for making me rich." Johns sat down across from her, wiping his boots clean with a cloth.

"You're welcome, Johns. Maybe we can go out to that dinner you never got around to taking me to." She cracked, receiving a smile in return. They had a strange sort of bond; it wasn't quite prisoner and master. Sometimes it was alpha to alpha, rubbing each other the wrong way, testing each other's strengths.

Suddenly, the ship began to rumble. Riddick had nothing to worry about; she was tightened up and had nowhere to slip off to. The other cons weren't so lucky, being dragged around by the bumps while being restrained, their harnesses keeping them to the chairs and straining their wrists. Eventually the ship stopped, just slightly noticeable in the cargo area.

"Looks like your pilot ain't so slick." She cocked her head, the gesture barely visible behind the bite-guard. "Maybe you could un-hook me; let me have a go at it."

 

"That won't happen til' I'm dead and gone, and especially not on my ship." He grunted, throwing down the rag to go check up on the front cabin. Riddick entertained herself by watching the inmates get to their feet and untangle themselves from their chains. She didn't try to help when she noticed a chain looped around another man's leg, simply letting them battle it out.

It was a few minutes before Johns returned, looking a little more relieved. The ship was no longer still, and they had begun moving once more, albeit slowly. She was slightly thankful for this; the tranqs in her system were still having a go at her, and her stomach was not replying too well.

"We're moving again. They just transmitted a safe route through the minefield." Johns relaxed into his seat once more, easing his elbows on his knees.

"That minefield's offering better odds than you're gonna get takin' me to Butcher Bay." Riddick replied airily. She knew about his past, having talked to Johns a bit on her way to Hubble Bay Penal Facility. Johns had been a squad leader in the slums of Sol Lucia; the planet on which Butcher Bay was made. Somehow, Johns managed to cause a large and very costly amount of damage to the prison, in which he was in debt to Hoxie, the warden. She found it amusing, how the blue-eyed devil had such problems. He was just one problem short of being a con himself. "…You think Hoxie's memory is that short?"

"He gets one look at you, Riddick, and all's forgiven." Johns' voice was warm, amused by her quip, "And I bank your bounty plus fifty…"

"Plus Fifty?" Riddick cracked, expressing disbelief along with a bit of laughter. "Now come on, Johns… Greed is an ugly thing."

Johns let out a little laugh, "You're in no position to be negotiating."

"We'll be landing at Butcher Bay in an… hour…" The intercom overhead cracked to life, "Buckle up… turbulence from an incoming sandstorm is expected. Hang on 'til we're through it."

Riddick observed her captor with brown eyes sparkling with amusement as he seemed to curl into himself at that news, "Oh yeah. I forgot you don't like this part… Statistically, landings are the most dangerous."

"You've got nothing left to live for, Riddick." Johns paused, wincing. "I do. Now shut up, would ya?"

"You're already counting. Aren't you?"

"I said shut up."

Riddick mumbled, her voice deep with underlying laughter and sleep, allowing the last of the tranqs in her system to over-take her. "Your funeral…"

*()*()*()*

"Rise and shine, Riddick…"

She shook her head. She didn't want it to end. She was so, so close to getting out of the prison, shotgun in hand, guards dead behind her.

"Rise and shine, Riddick." The voice was clearer now.

There was the sound of buttons being pushed, the sudden rush of air as her binds were released. "Rise and shine, jackass."

Riddick shook, momentarily surprised by the sudden awakening. "Come on, don't act like you're asleep." Johns said, voice placid with expectation. "It's time for you to earn me some money."

Glancing down at the pistol Johns aimed at her stomach, Riddick let out a grumble of laughter, disguised by her words. "You might want to be careful with that, Johns." Her voice was something foreboding, "You could hurt somebody."

As they stepped off the metal tin-can of a merc ship, Riddick was greeted by a blast of unforgiving light. She winced, squinting as she stepped onto the platform, which was gritty with sand. She took a moment to look at her surroundings, a little smile escaping her lips.

"Butcher Bay. You know, you always take me to the nicest places, Johns." She cracked, and was roughly pushed in the shoulder to be encouraged to move forward. She did this without complaint, but decided he would pay for that later.

"I hear the food's good as well." Johns amused tone was not lost on her. They sounded more like friends, one friend having forced the other to go somewhere unpleasant. "Can't say I'm gonna miss you, Riddick."

Riddick couldn't say she was hurt by these words, "Then don't."

As a group of guards approached them, Riddick nodded her head, lips twitched with amusement as she hid a smile. "…Ah, Johns. Looks like that memory's still intact. He don't look all that happy to see you."

"Hoxie's a businessman. Now, play nice and we can get this over with quickly."

"It's already over, Johns."

"Secure your weapon, Johns." Said Hoxie. The man was a blond, his hair slicked back to his dome, green eyes contemplative as they worked down Riddick's well-toned form.

Johns let out a tiny, strained laugh. "Good to see you too, Warden."

"So, the famous Miss Riddick…" Hoxie approached her, arms folded behind his back in a gentlemanly manner, completely ignoring Johns for the moment.

"The Hox…"

"Finally come to stay, eh? Well, as of this moment Butcher Bay owns your ass…" Hoxie deliberately raised a suggestive brow. "I own your ass."

Riddick didn't let it be seen she was annoyed by this. She had been used to sexual harassment before; it came with the job of being a con. Being a female con was never easy, but being The Riddick, well, it gave you certain inalienable rights to kick the motherfucker in the balls if he dared to touch you.

"She's all yours once I sign her over, Hoxie." Johns spoke up, perhaps feeling the threatening tone and the insinuation that went with it. Hoxie hardly expressed he noticed Johns was there, looking vaguely irritated.

"You're not going to be a problem, are you, Riddick?" Hoxie raised a brow, pointing and shoving his hand into her face. Riddick decided to sate herself at the moment by imagining ripping that disgusting birth-mark off his upper lip. "'Cause my boys and I like solving problems."

She cocked her head while the warden shifted around her like an uncertain vulture, "Johns said you were ugly up close. For the first time, I gotta agree with him."

"Hmmm…. Nice try."

"I do what I can."

"Already trying to get under my skin, eh Riddick?" The Warden was undeniably amused.

"It'd be easier…" She drew out the sentence. It was a wonder how she could sound so menacing, even cuffed and armed guards surrounding the area. "If I had something sharp."

The Warden found it the appropriate time to turn to Johns finally, who quickly began negotiating the price on her head. She took this time to multitask listening in on the conversation and studying the guards and other aspects of the upper level prison. It looked like it sounded, like the block a butcher would cut his meat on, the sky splashed with red from the atmosphere.

The guards behind Hoxie were doing considerably the same thing as she was. Three guards, two of them hidden by their helmets and inextinguishable from one another, and the third that stood out brightly. He was a black man with cornrows; wearing black shades over what she could only assume were brown eyes. He wore a red and black suit of guard armor, which shined a dull crimson and grey in the light. He seemed to be a regular sort of goon, the drugged-up-on-power type.

"Let's get her processed." Hoxie finally finished, nodding to the black man.

"Yes sir!" He said, fully savoring this part of the job.

"Johns." Riddick walked ahead, turning her head just slightly as she looked back. "…Better luck next time."

*()*()*()*

"Prisoner walking!"

The guards quickly fell in step by her sides. She didn't complain, nor show any indication she was uncomfortable with their proximity. She carefully watched them, though, prepared to defend herself if necessary, which she supposed was a little excessive. But she didn't survive so long by taking risks.

"Pay attention, punk. You are now Butcher Bay prisoner five four two one one three five dash two. Remember your number. Remember the rules. My rules. Now listen, there is no 'outside' at Butcher's. Just a whole planet of desert. So check those desires right now, because you will not get out. No one has, no one ever will." The guard droned on.

'I like a challenge.' Riddick thought to herself, smirking a little before covering it up.

As they entered the building, a rush of cool air enveloped her, relieving her of the heat that had attached itself to her clothes. Like she didn't stink already; she had planned to go shopping for clothes before she had got caught. Now she was stuck in her sweaty black tank-top and brown cargo-pants that successfully hid her ass. They began their way to Cell Block A, the guard yelling back "Ok, close the gate!"

"No physical contact with other inmates whatsoever." Like that would be a problem. "No contraband of any kind. Don't ask what's contraband, I define it day-by-day."

"So spare yourself and carry nothing but lint in those pockets." The guard was silent for a moment as they approached the gate, a few guards left and right up near walls showing their skills with a gun. Or at least, what they thought skills were.

They stepped into a cage-like area, where the bars would shut behind them. A prisoner approached the bars on the A Block side, speaking to the guard.

"Hey, Abbott. When you've dropped that fish into her new tank, we gotta talk. It's 'bout the Aquilas." The con said, with surprising levelness with the guard.

"Don't worry. I got Rust by the balls. You'll get your share, Cyrus." Abbott replied without any patience. The prisoner shrugged as the bars began to open, retreating back into the prison halls.

"There are two cell-blocks in this section: A and B. You're in A." Abbott explained, as if she couldn't read the text when they walked in.

As they walked in, two prisoners took a look at her. One was a female Latino, amused as she walked in. "Hey, what are you bringing to us?"

"Name's Riddick. Thinks her shit don't stink." Abbott snorted.

"The Riddick?" Asked another inmate, with a surprising amount of disbelief.

"Get the fuck back to your cell, Jacklyn." Abbott hissed, not pleased with the reaction he received.

"Riddick! You just landed in gladiator school!" Said one inmate.

"Hey Riddick! Rust is gonna eat you alive." Said another.

She ignored them both as she approached her cell, a woman near it introducing herself as Barber.

"Come talk to me after delousing, ok?" She asked.

The door to the cell slid open, revealing a dimly lit cell with padded bunks with a toilet in the center wall, near the bedding. There were scratches and symbols on the walls, and it looked like shit had been smeared underneath the light.

"This is you hole. It's time for us to delouse your filthy ass. Don't breathe." Abbott jerked his head for her to go into her cell. She complied with slow, measured steps as she sucked in a breath.

The cell door closed behind her, and above a white mist blew out of the ceiling fan. She did as she was told, because she didn't necessarily feel like dying at the moment. The process was quick, the mist quickly dissipating as soon as it had appeared.

"Cleansing routines. An indignity of slam-life." She murmured to herself, "Lets the mercs think they're in charge. That's their weakness. The foolish believe that they're in control."

"It'll be their downfall."


	3. Chapter 3

The first step was to kill the rooster of the single max level, Rust. Rust was a little bitch that ate from crumbs, crumbs that fell from Abbott’s table. She was less of a threat than the regular merc was, but she would have to kill her regardless to get any help from Hayley, a former guard of the prison. Riddick didn’t know why she turned con, and didn’t care to ask, but the information she got for her trouble was worth it.

She managed to get her way into the med bay, where there were no turrets to be found, and only one guard with a shotgun. She took him down with ease and beat the other guy to death before unlocking the door to the next room, rushed by a guard who had heard the commotion. She made quick work of him and moved on.

She snuck through rooms and through corridors, hearing over the prison’s intercom that a riot had incited in the blocks after the death of Rust. This was also good, considering it gave her a distraction while she escaped.

Eventually she made her way to the main computer, having to put down an engineer in the process, and input her DNA into the staff databanks. This set off an alarm, but she was able to grab a rifle and take out the half-dozen guards outside the door. As she stepped into the hall, a guard threw in a grenade which caused an explosion, which she dodged just in time. This opened up a passage to storage room.

But enough of the specifics. Long story short, she managed to get down the pit but extraordinarily survived the fall by latching onto a guard as she threw herself off the ledge. There she made her way through the sewers and past the dwellers, whatever those creatures were, and met a man who called himself “Pope Joe”. This was good, considering she had a lash on her arm that needed stitching, and he had the supplies she needed. All he wanted her to do was get his “voice-box” back, which was broadcasting some sort of religious bullshit.

She returned and gave it to him, and got him to stitch up her arm. The strange thing was, the pain wasn’t being so cooperative this time around. As the pope peeled back a vent, the fat man leaned down.

“You must feel your way through the dark, Riddick.” He spoke, his voice gentle and barely above a whisper. “Don’t trust your eyes…”

There was a sudden rush, some sort of energy that made Riddick pause. She tilted her head, finding that the Pope was unmoving, unblinking. She made to say something, wondering what had happened to the fat man, but was silence by an ethereal and disembodied voice that sounded strangely familiar.

 _“He speaks one thing that is true, Riddick. Do not trust all that you see…”_ It said, a motherly voice from the heavens, while Riddick rotted down in this slam. _“At least, not yet…”_

“I thought it was the pain talking…” Riddick murmured, raising her arm to glance at the severity of the wound. It wasn’t bad enough to give her hallucinations, and this was the type of hallucination you would get on two acid trips, although it was perhaps a bit tame. “Though it has always known its place before.”

 _“Your destiny lies elsewhere, Riddick. So I’m going to give you a gift.”_ The voice murmured, Riddick pressing her fingers to her temples. Her head hurt pretty goddamn badly. It hadn’t occurred to her that this was the voice she heard when she was younger. That had been years and years ago, and considering everything, she thought she might have been high on dope or just insane at the time. _“Yes… you have been blind for far too long…”_

_“…But your world is about to get more… colorful.”_

A sudden surge of energy shot through the air, stinging her eyes with such pain and shock it brought her to her knees. She didn’t understand, shaking her head as she tried to blink it away, but it didn’t go away. She could hear Pope Joe speaking once more, meaning that the illusion had ended.

“Oh, you are destined for great things, Riddick.” The Pope echoed, his predictions similar to what the voice had said before. “I get visions… They are never wrong.”

Riddick continued rubbing her eyes, blinking them rapidly. There was something wrong, the colors she was seeing were not right. It was blurring, objects in the room difficult to make out against the walls.

“It is beautiful…” Pope Joe said, Riddick turning up to look at the holy man. Her eyes contracted, changing. The warm orange glow of the room shifting, “I see you surrounded by much suffering… and death.”

Riddick slammed the Pope against the wall, receiving a choked gasp of surprise. He struggled weakly, clawing at her hands, which she ignored as she stared him down through gritted teeth and squinted eyes.

“What did you do?” She hissed, enunciating each word with venom as pain worked through her face, tightening her grip around his neck.

“Just made your… just… fix your arm…” The Pope said weakly, “Please…”

As the light burst in her eyes, she dropped the holy man, and covered her eyes. Everything was too bright, even in the dark room that held only a few candles.

“That light…” Hissing, she squinted and searched for something that would dull the brightness in the room. Her fingers wrapping around a pair of spare goggles the pope had, pulling them onto her head but resisted pulling the lenses over her eyes.

“Careful how you look at me.” She warned, voice deep with irritation and now, understanding. The Pope dropped his gaze, suddenly a loss for words. As she crawled towards the entrance of the vent, the pope finally spoke up, breathless and in awe.

“Riddick… tell…” He murmured. “What do you see?”

“Everything.”

*()*()*()*

Long story short time again; she had got caught two times. Once while beating the shit out of Abbott and almost killing him (she had to take his eyes to be able to get to the ship bay), getting caught by Johns that time. She had to admit, the guy knew her best out of all the mercs that hunted her. The second was a little half and half, Johns having run in to try and stop her, having a group of guards behind him after a moment.

Jagger Valance, a male prisoner that had decided to escape with her, was having trouble unlocking the cockpit of the ship, so she took over, screwdriver in hand as she unlocked it. She told him to go and sit down, to stay out of her way, which was the best course of action. Her nerves were riding high from having to crawl her way out of the recesses of Butcher’s. She really didn’t want to be there any longer, and if he impeded on that somehow, he’d be thrown out of the ship in a heartbeat. 

The sudden sound of flesh against flesh startled her a moment, and with catlike grace she turned to find Johns, again, stopping her. Jagger dropped to the ground, obviously in pain from those punches Johns had inflicted. Riddick kept the screwdriver she had been using behind her back, other hand free.

“You’re always trying to ruin my paydays, Riddick.” Johns growled, raising his pistol at her. “Hoxie is bound to give me more than twenty-two percent after this.”

He leaned in, threatening and showing his teeth. “Now come on, let’s go.”

Johns turned to go, assuming that Riddick wasn’t stupid enough to attack while he had a gun and also assumed she was unarmed, which was a stupid move on his part. The screwdriver went through the muscle in his back, blood spraying from the wound. In the tussle Johns dropped his gun, and Riddick kicked it out of his reach, towards Valance.

Riddick managed to get a good few punches into Johns’ jaw before being blocked by an arm. The other was being held back, over her head. He managed to push her down and cause her to lose grip on her screwdriver, and before he could strike her with the weapon, she kicked him in the back of leg causing him to fall as well. Johns quickly rolled over, atop of Riddick, and struggling with the screwdriver as they wrestled for dominance. They managed to get on their knees, Riddick finally cuffing him in the face again and relinquishing her screwdriver from his grasp, their arms locked as she tried to go for his neck.

“RIDDICK! Riddick! Whoa, whoa!” Johns shouted, obviously struggling to keep an even voice as she stood once more, blade pointed to his neck. Perhaps he was going to try and talk her out of it, maybe make a deal. Her lips curled into a smile, each tooth a symbol of pure malice.

“No time like the present, Johns.” She hissed, but before she could give the final strike, a bullet entered her side, causing her to fall back. Jagger hopped up, holding the pistol Johns had dropped, yelling something about “getting him”. Riddick let out a sigh, her voice hiding the anger and the pain.

“Good effort. Bad result.” She replied plainly as she and the merc beside her both laid down on their backs, injured to all hell. Johns held at the wound at his back, or at least tried to. He let out wheezing, pathetic grunts. She surmised that the only thing keeping him from screaming in pain was the adrenaline, which would wear off soon.

“When _are_ you going to take me to that dinner, Johns?” She asked, all the violence and malice out of her voice at the moment, but she sounded dead serious.

Johns let out a pathetic little laugh, “Soon.”

As the sound of feet stomping their way became closer, most likely a horde of guards, she let out a wheeze while smirking. “I’d better hope it’s soon. At this rate, you’ll be dead and I’ll be a Popsicle.”

Johns laughed, then coughed and winced in pain. The guards soon entered the ship, quickly shooting Valance down, which was a tiny bit unfair but completely acceptable at this point. They entered the ship, guns pointed at the corpse of the once Jagger Valance.

“You dyin’ on me, Johns?” Riddick’s voice was little more than a wheeze now, slowly losing her grasp on the pain.

“No, not yet.” Johns was slowly going dark too, but brightened up once more at her voice. “Did I get you good?” 

“I’ve had worse.” She pursed her lips, not allowing him that bit of pride.

There was a small pause before Johns spoke once more.

“I thought that this was going… to be the day, Riddick…” Johns whispered, his voice just a tiny bit frantic as he took in gulps of air, trying to remain awake. “The day one of us… kills the other.”

Riddick turned her head slightly, glancing at Johns’ form. They were both lying in a puddle of their own blood, which had begun to mingle at this point. She let out a gasping, weak breath. “The day’s not over yet.”

Around this time, the guards stumbled over to them, and she had passed out from the blood loss. But what she managed to make of it was that she and Johns were taken back to Hoxie’s part of the prison, her side had been patched up, and so had Johns’. But Johns looked much worse, having these leg-supporters attached to his arms to keep him upright. He was a pathetic sight to behold, and damn her if she didn’t feel bad about it either.

Okay, maybe she did feel something about it. It was kind of disappointing, to see an alpha like him so… weak and frail. She was used to an upright Johns, able to do anything on his own. Not that she had never seen him get injured (mostly by her) but never to this degree. Maybe she wished she hadn’t hurt him so badly, but on other hand, she would rather kill him and escape than him be uninjured and still here. But she didn’t offer any condolences or apologies.

“You’re lucky to be alive, Johns.” Hoxie grunted at the blue-eyed devil, his voice filled with disgust as he turned toward the convict. “And you, Riddick… Well, your luck has just run out.”

“Since you are a little too volatile to keep in the general population…” Hoxie stalked around her, keeping his eyes trained. “I’m putting you in cold storage.”

The name brought an echo of the past, déjà vu of her time back in the slam named after such a term. But it didn’t shake her. “I could use a rest. Give my ribs time to heal.”

“Only if Jagger’d been a better shot, you’d…” Johns spoke up finally, relieving some the tension Riddick hadn’t known she had been acquiring. Her muscles relaxed somewhat, a playful smirk working its way on her lips.

“You’d be dead.” She finished for him, a wince disguising itself as she looked at Johns; his legs shaking underneath him. “And I’d be off this rock. So we both lose.”

“Isn’t that the way with us, Johns?” Her voice was a little light, eyes darting away from him and toward Hoxie. Hoxie wasn’t a pretty sight, but it was better than looking at the injured Johns.

“Lose?” Johns’ head popped up, alarmed by the saying. “What are you talking about?” He turned to Hoxie, “What’s she talking about?”

Hoxie let out a breath, “I said you were lucky to be alive, Johns. But luck can be fleeting…”

“Riddick has already cost me plenty. Far more than you’re worth, to be honest.” Hoxie spoke, his voice without anger, which was somewhat troubling. Riddick winced once more as she witnessed Johns gritting his teeth in pain and curling into himself. She wanted to pull him up and demand he stand up straight, but the guards wouldn’t allow that. So she stood, arms at her sides, watching.

“I’m just getting started, Hoxie.” Riddick spoke up once more, relieving some of the attention off of Johns.

Hoxie stepped back towards her, frowning. “Yes, I was afraid of that. That’s why I’m having you put into cryo-sleep.”

Hoxie turned to the side, his voice filling with malice as he spoke those last three words.

“Pleasant dreams, Riddick.”

*()*()*()*

 

 **“MINOR DAMAGE TO COCKPIT STABILIZERS, INFORM NEAREST AUTHORIZED ROBOT MECHANIC.”** The gigantic robotic suit informed the con in the seat, turning the suit towards the elevator’s exit as she flew up however many levels. **“MULTIPLE TARGETS AROUND CORNER.”**

She hadn’t given up. She absolutely detested it. It was so clean and she was drugged up half the time she had been in the triple-max area, the cold storage. So third time around she found a glitch in the system, snuck into another inmate’s cryo-cell and hitched a ride over to the storage area. There she broke out of the cell and escaped the area, hijacking an armored suit in the process. 

The guards had never been through this situation before. A triple-max inmate had never escaped before, never mind having taken control of a suit and began attacking from the inside. So she had the element of surprise and the guards unprepared for the attack.

She lumbered through the halls of Hoxie’s prison, destroying everything in her path, stomping on guards and shooting down enemy armored guards. She made it through another level and an elevator, where she had to ditch the suit because the power components had be compromised.

She opened the bay hatch, and just in the nick of time too; for a throng of armored guards had just arrived on the scene. She began to free-run, legs pumping, chest heaving through the cryo-suit. She didn’t know what she was hoping for. There wasn’t a ship to be seen on the platform, nothing that could get her out of her short of jumping to her death.

She stopped at the edge, looking down below before turning around, raising her hands slowly. She wasn’t sure if she was about to admit defeat or jump, but the rev of a ship was heard behind her. She turned, smiling as she saw the familiar ship, Johns’ voice ushering for her to get in.

She did as she was told, jumping onto the hull and entering from the top. The guards had resumed shooting with a vengeance, luckily missing every shot.

She hung a moment as she slipped in, letting go and dropping into the cockpit. Johns still had a pistol, aimed right at her as he simultaneously manned the controls. She let out a little huff of a laugh, smirking at the merc.

“How’s the back?” She asked, her voice just above neutral.

“It’s been better…” He admitted, pressing a few buttons on the console. “… I’m takin’ you to another slam, Riddick. We’re getting out of Butcher Bay together. That’ll teach Hoxie to fuck with me.”

She wasn’t sure whether or not to be touched by this notion, but smirked cockily. “Now you’re learning, Johns.” Her tone almost flattering; amused and warm.

“I even stiffed the bastard on the med fees…” He smirked, tapping out coordinates on the console. “And you know the drill.”

“Shouldn’t you teach someone else to fuck with you?” She let the come-on slip, Johns turning to her with a look of surprise, but before he could speak the ship shook. One of the bastard guards outside must have fired a rocket-launcher, for now the ship was spinning out of control. Johns had smacked his head against the console, losing consciousness immediately. She caught him before he fell, however, pushing him aside to the floor and began manning the ship.

She punched in a few coordinates. Her mouth was bitter with anger, pissed at the Hoxie for many reasons. And she wasn’t planning on leaving Butcher’s without his head. The ship gave off alarms that the hull was damaged, but they weren’t going anywhere into the atmosphere. As the ship was hit with another rocket, it shook even harder, but their destination was locked.

“Let’s play… Who’s the better killer.” She hissed, glaring out the screen.

The ship crashed into Hoxie’s officer, destroying the plain glass windows that gave him a view over the desert. The warden ducked just in time behind his desk. The Warden’s office was lavish with antiquities and fanciful artwork, a chandelier overhead. Although the effect wasn’t so appeasing now that there was a merc ship lodged into the wall. Riddick opened the ship’s bay doors, jumping out with John’s on her shoulder, stepping towards Hoxie’s desk with a swagger, a vengeful smile on her lips.

“I guess you wanted Johns dead, not alive.” Riddick snorted as she approached the desk, voice barely above a whisper.

“…Riddick?!” Hoxie’s was panicking. He was alone with a con, no guards, and no weapons in sight except for a machine gun that was closer to Riddick than him. And the con gave one hell of an entrance.  Riddick dumped Johns on the floor, just before his desk, stepping over his body.

“Whadya give me for him anyway, Hoxie?” She rolled his body over with her foot, voice filled with amusement. The ship finally fell away behind them, probably crashing into more landing pads below. She didn’t turn or care to notice.

 “W-We’ll work a deal, Riddick. Johns for you… Straight up. Anything, anything!” The Warden was shaking, holding up his hands in fear as he stepped towards his desk. “Just tell me what you want, Riddick, and I’ll— I’ll make it happen.”

“Hmmm…” Riddick had never heard those words directed at her before, and she denied that they were genuine. “…I wanted to be left alone.”

“Let me give you some advice, Riddick.” Hoxie sat down in his chair, voice full of energy and fear. As he did so, she knew he had some sort of protection, a button under his desk. “When you make a threat, be prepared to back it up. I’ll give you ‘alone’.”

As he pressed the button, the chair zipped up and was enclosed in some sort of armored box, which snapped shut like a mouse-trap. The walls to Riddick’s right and left opened up, revealing two bright red androids, which seemed to vanish before her eyes. Rolling as bullets flied through the air where she had been previously standing, she simultaneously grabbed the machine gun and pulled off her goggles. Even though the room was bright with light, she could still make out the forms of the two androids. She shot at them relentlessly, causing them to stumble backwards until they fell and deactivated.

Stepping over to one of the unmoving androids, she picked up its arm and shot a rocket at the Warden’s panic room, which popped open like a spring, causing Hoxie to zip back down and slam head-first into his desk, luckily not going unconscious.

Hoxie got to his knees, still trying to make out a deal with her despite the betrayal. His voice was weak with fear, “Oh… but… now, Riddick… there must be s-something… uh…”

“The codes to your ship.” She replied plainly, not revealing her newly hatched plan.

“Shit, Riddick. You wouldn’t…” His voice was light, pitched a higher octave.

“Wouldn’t what?” She left that question to be unanswered. “What wouldn’t I do, Hoxie?”

“Oh… Of course… The codes in my desk. Uhmm, and…” Hoxie tripped over his words. She was surprised he was still standing, how shocked he was. Johns, however, took that moment to finally awake and stand. She ignored Hoxie completely, knowing he was no longer a threat.

“Can you walk, Johns?” She cocked a brow, not allowing concern to enter her voice.

“Yeah, I think so.” He laughed, supporting himself with the desk.”

“Run?”

“Maybe… but I wouldn’t try to find out…” He tried to stand up straighter, wincing in pain. “Ah, shit.”

“Good.” She smiled, turning back to Hoxie. “How’s your eyesight?”

Hoxie did not like that look on her face.

*()*()*()*

The shots fired that ended Hoxie’s life echoed in the halls Riddick sauntered down in, guiding Johns with a few pats in the right direction as she was disguised in the armor of a guard. She wouldn’t dare allow Johns to play the part, as he was injured and she didn’t trust him not to actually turn the gun on her, despite his injured condition. Guards passed her blindly, blubbering about accidentally killing the warden. She found it amusing.

They eventually made it onto the Warden’s ship, where she sat in the pilot’s seat. They began to rev the engine as she input the correct code on the console, a smile twitching on her lips.

“You know, Johns… Statistically, take-offs are the most dangerous.” She smirked, licking her lips.

“No shit.” He laughed, standing off to her side. “I thought you said landings were.”

“Yeah, guess it all depends on who you have at the controls.” She admitted as she took off the guard helmet, glowing eyes glaring at the console.

“Where’d you get those?” Johns asked after a moment of silence, studying her with those blue eyes of his.

“Old slam-pope gave me a shine-job.” She lied. Funny, how you chose to remember things.

“…They’re nice.”

Riddick hid the smile, focusing on the ship as they accelerated, escaping that damned rock with its damned prison.

Ain’t no outside at Butcher’s, eh?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to skip The Chronicles of Riddick: Assault of Dark Athena because Dark Athena come up again in the second animated movie, and the video game is not needed to understand what is going on.
> 
> Also, I apologize for any misspellings you may have noticed so far. I do not have a beta.

_They say most of your brain shuts down in cryo-sleep…_

_All but the primitive side, the animal side…_

_No wonder I'm still awake._

_Transporting me with civilians. Sounded like 40, 40-plus. Heard an Arab voice. Some hoodoo holy man, probably on his way to New Mecca. But what route?_

_What route?_

_I smelt a woman. Sweat, boots, tool belt, leather. Prospector type. Free settlers. And they only take the back roads._

_And here's my real problem. Mr. Johns... the blue-eyed devil. Planning on taking me back to slam... only this time he picked a ghost lane. A long time between stops._

_A long time for something to go wrong..._

*()*()*()*

The first thing she is aware of when she wakes that she is free. Well, free in a practical term. She's still bound head to toe in chains, but otherwise she's not in her cryo-cell anymore, which is a given despite the blindness and the inability to move. But she can move, she can squirm around, and she can climb, even if it is extremely difficult and time-wasting. But she's patient. She manages to squirm her way onto a bunch of wires. The scent of people pass by, oils and perfumes preserved by the cryo-sleep. She hears people calling, coughing to one another in English and, oddly, Arabic.

She bites down on the leather strap in her mouth, taking a deep breath. Johns was close, she could recognize his sweat, the way he breathed. He was just underneath her…

She swings her legs out, wrapping around Johns' head and to his neck, choking him without mercy, twisting the chains hard. Riddick hears the baton before she feels it, and rides out the pain. Johns, damn him, leans forward just enough that she begins to slip, breaking the support of the ceiling. She falls hard; face first and releasing Johns without meaning to. She hears his hard breath, a growl growing in his throat as he is shocked to find her still in her bindings. Well, only a little. This is Riddick, they were talking about.

He lays the baton on her neck, "One chance and you blew it, Riddick. Never cease to disappoint me."

She doesn't respond— hell, she can't with the mouth-bit, but besides that the pain in her head was exploding in front of her closed eyes. She breaths heavily, wishing to struggle as Johns begins heaving her from the area, smacking her head against metal and dragging her feet. She hears a few gasps from the crew, a lets out a tiny smirk, hidden by the mouth-bit.

Then she's locked up again, against metal that fell from the ship, still suspended by thick coiled wiring. She's tired, so she rests.. She knows how to escape; she just needs to rest a moment.

She hears the screams of the captain not too far away. She can smell the blood; he's dying and the screams are getting louder. She can hear a woman, some people calling her 'Fry'. Riddick remembers now; the second in command, the first-mate. Looks like she got a promotion. Soon the screaming stops, and all that remains is a little whimpering until that stops too. There are steps, probably the woman going outside. It's hard to breathe, like Riddick's one lung short, but she manages.

She waits at least five minutes later until there's some commotion, the gang walking inside the crashed ship. She doesn't need to strain to listen, they're loud enough on their own.

"Liquid oxygen canisters inside. Start ripping them out. Quick hits only – try to make it last." Says one, Riddick recognizes the voice. Fry.

"Well, is someone coming for us? Or are we all just gonna die of exposure or dehydration or sunstroke or maybe even something worse?" Says another, a younger voice. She doesn't know the name. "Hey, you don't have to worry about scaring me."

"We're worried you'll scare us." Says another woman. The scent of leather emanates from her so strongly that Riddick doesn't even need to wonder who it is. "Name's Jack right, love? And you're goin' to Taurus Three like we were?"

"Yeah, but… do we even have enough food to get there? Or will we have to resort to cannibalism?" This Jack says.

Riddick doesn't hear if the woman replies to this comment, catching another conversation. "I'll see 'bout makin' this air go a bit further, cap'n. With your permission, a' course." She can't tell if Fry says anything or not, but the voice retreats. She can sense only a few people left in the room; Fry and Johns.

"And her?" Asks Fry.

"Big evil?" Johns cracks. Riddick lets out a snort of air, but doesn't give any other sign that she's listening in.

"We just keep her locked up forever?" Fry inquires, shifting next to Johns.

"Be my choice. Already escape once from the max-slam facility on—"

"I don't need her life story. Is she really that dangerous?" Fry interrupts him, and Riddick can hear Johns smirk.

"Only around humans."

She can hear Fry move closer, smell her scent. She's studying Riddick, she can tell, until she notices something sheeting down the hull. Something Riddick had noticed five minutes ago. They're losing water.

"Oh, Christ…" Fry curses, jogging from the area. Riddick smirks, hearing Johns' retreating footsteps.

*()*()*()*

She was rested now, and alone in her mini-prison. They were all looking for something to drink in the storage area, or what was left of it. Now they had a new crisis on their hands; water. Riddick wasn't overly concerned by this, all deserts have water.

What she was occupied with was escape, and she knew what she had to do. Above, dangling overhead was a cutting torch that was abandoned in the wreckage and overlooked by Johns when he had been securing her. She was barely able to see it from her blindfold, but she knew she could reach it. But her arms were behind her back, cuffed.

Looking up, she notices the bulkhead she is secured to is fractured, a small spot where she could get the chains to pass through. It's a slim chance, and she would fall immediately after doing as such, but she would have a chance to get the cutting torch.

 

She stands, adjusting herself flush against the hull and begins stretching her arms behind her back. With gruesome popping, she dislocates both shoulders, jerking her head and gritting her teeth with the pain. She carries her arms over her head, passing the chains through the broken spot and brings her arms down, catching the cutting torch as her shoulders pop back into place.

She wastes no time cutting her bindings, rubbing at her wrists a moment before grabbing a few belongings such as her goggles; a souvenir from her time at Butcher Bay, and a couple of pieces of metal, sharp enough to be used as a weapon.

She runs out into the desert, sand flying behind her as she kicks her feet up. She manages to run four or five yards before resting behind a rock cover. She could run more easily, but the highly pressurized atmosphere and low oxygen was making it difficult. She would rest for now, she had the time.

*()*()*()*

Johns doesn't feel right. Something's wrong, and he knows it. Perhaps it's the way the air moves, or just his gut. But he runs back towards Riddick's pen, pistol in hand eyes sweeping the area. He knows Riddick is no longer in her bindings. Her mouth-bit is in the sand nearby.

"Like we needed another way to die." He growls, making his way back to the group to deliver the bad news.

Of course they take the news as any group would. They're fucking terrified, of course, but a few there believe they can take her on. She's only one woman, right?

They're in the Navigation bay, gathered around a large casket of goodies from Paris's belongings. He was a rich bastard, or was going to be a rich bastard if they had made it to New Mecca. But they had to commandeer his items as weapons. Riddick could be out there anywhere, and they didn't want to be caught half-assed.

They take inventory: Johns has his pistol, shotgun, and baton. Zeke and Shazza offer up their pick-axes, digging tools, and hunting boomerang. Imam shows a ceremonial blade, and Paris straggles in with an antique curios.

"What the hell are these?"" Johns grunts as he lays eyes on some sort of medieval pick-axes.

"Maratha crow-bill war-picks from Northern India. Very rare." Paris replies.

"An' this?" Zeke asks, pointing to a blow-dart.

"Blow dart hunting stick from Papua New Guinea. Very, very rare since the tribe's extinct." Paris grins, patting the blow-gun appreciatively.

"'Cuz they couldn't hunt shit with these things, be my guess." Zeke shrugs, causing Paris to frown.

"Well, what's the need anyway? If she's gone, she's gone. Why should she bother us?" Paris complains, most likely despising that his antiques have to be used and most likely damaged.

"First, because she can only live out there for so long— she's gonna come back and take what we got. Second, for the sheer thrill of the kill." Johns explained, and after a beat, they all grab for weapons.

*()*()*()*

Johns stands atop the crashed ship, scanning with a scope. He had half a mind to go hunting for Riddick himself, but he was already tired and his mouth was dry. The air was too thin to run for very long either, and they were preoccupied by the need for water.

After a moment, he fixates on a blue glow on the horizon. "What the hell is it?"

Zeke and Shazza modified the breather units they had ripped out of the pressure suits, adding straps and tubing and ball-floats. The prototype was tested on Jack, who nodded enthusiastically now that he could breathe easier.

The Chrislams, Christian Islams back from New Mecca, convert to their traditional Bedouin head-gear, readying for the travel ahead to search for water. Fry finishes wrapping Owen's body, the once captain, and looks to the yellow sun low on the horizon. The red sun beside it seems inclined to follow its lead.

She turns to Imam, "Imam, we should leave soon. Before nightfall but while it's cooler."

"What, you're goin' off, too?" Zeke asks, almost complaining as he wipes his forehead from the heat.

"Johns is leaving you a gun. Just do me a favor, huh, get my crewies buried? They were good guys who died bad." Fry pats Zeke on the shoulder, dusting off the sand from her front. Shazza nods in agreement, but they are interrupted by one of Imam's pilgrims.

They turn towards the pilgrim's cries, catching sight of a blue star flaring into view. It has begun to rise as the other suns had begun to set, the heat cooling just a degree.

"My bloody oath…" Shazza shakes her head in disbelief.

"Three suns?" Jack complains loudly from behind.

"So much for your nightfall." Zeke sighs to fry before turning back to the ship.

"So much for my cocktail hour." Paris mimics before taking a large gulp of his expensive booze.

"We take this to be a good sign," Imam smiles as the three young pilgrim boys stand off to his sides, shaking their heads in agreement. "A path, a direction from god."

Johns takes this moment to slide down from the top of the ship, "A very good sign. That's Riddick's direction. You do not wanna be caught in the dark with this girl."

"Thought you found her restraints over there," Fry points, "Toward sunset."

Johns nods, "Which means she went toward sunrise."

*()*()*()*

They had begun trekking through the desert immediately. The Chrislams had begun to waft incense pots and chant from the Koran as they head toward the blue star. Sand kicked up in their wake, the air thin but they made sure to take puffs from their modified breathers. Johns provided shotgun escort, still on edge about Riddick while Fry carries Paris' second war-pick on a shoulder. Silhouetted against the alien sky with the blue star, the scouting party is a strange sight to behold.

Already sun-battered, the blue sun had done little to cool the heat of the everlasting day. Johns crafted an eye-visor out of a piece of plexi. Fry begins trying to wrap her head like the Chrislams while Imam helps.

"So quiet." Fry comments, "You get used to the sounds of the ship, then…"

"You know who Muhammad was?" Imam interrupts the silent pause.

"Some prophet guy?" Fry answers, almost amused.

"'Some prophet guy'." Imam cocks a brow, but remains uninsulted. "And a city man. But he had to travel to the desert— where there was quiet – to hear the words of God."

"You were on a pilgrimage?" Fry recollects, "To New Mecca?"

Imam nods, "Chrislam teaches that once in every lifetime should there be a great hajj— a great pilgrimage. To know God, better, yes, but to know yourself as well."

"Frightening thought." Fry cracks wryly.

Imam finally finishes helping her wrap the Bedouin, patting her shoulder. "We're all on the same hajj now."

Turning, Fry notices Johns scope-locked onto something in the distance. She steps over to him, leaning down. "What?"

He hands he the scope, rubbing his left eye tiredly. "Tell me it's not a mirage."

She raises the scope to her eyes, biting her lip as she took in the scene. "Trees?"

"Trees mean water." Johns nods, and soon they're on the trail again.

*()*()*()*

Paris decided to take over as look-out in order to avoid physical labor, erecting a misting umbrella in order to deal with the heat. He fills a reservoir with liquor, dialing up a regulator so the umbrella begins shooting bursts of cooling alcohol vapor, which he luxuriates in.

Zeke cocks his head as he drags a scrap-metal sled with a tarp, cable, and a pick-axe below. The sled also carries a body, which is covered in wrapping. "Comfy up there?"

Paris lets out a little laugh, fanning himself. "Amazing how you can do without the essentials of life— so long as you have the luxuries."

Zeke bristles uncomfortably, "Well, just keep your bloody-fuckin' eyes open. Don't want that ratbag sneakin' up on me bloody-fuckin' arse."

Paris gives him a sarcastic salute as Zeke drags the sled towards the spired hills. Keeping an eye on Zeke, Paris eases into a chair, laying the war-pick across his lap and pours himself a spot of sherry. As he begins to sip, a blade touches the Adam's apple of his throat. He chokes, a bit of sherry spilling onto his front as he freezes in fear.

"She'd probably get you right here, right under the jaw." A young voice cracks; Jack. "And you'd never hear her coming. That's how good Riddick is."

Paris grunts, easing the hunting boomerang away from his flesh, turning towards the kid. "Now did you run away from your parents, or did they run away from you?"

*()*()*()*

The scouting party had begun approaching a sandy rise, the trees looming just beyond. The pilgrims had begun crooning "Allahu Akbar… allahu akbar…" as they began into an excited run, anticipating the oasis. Fry hangs back, taking a harder look at the trees. There's wind, rustling her short hair, but the branches of the trees remain still. Above, the pilgrims scramble to the rise and go motionless. Fry, Johns, and Imam eventually make it to the top to see…

Bones. Dorsal bones of a titanic skeleton, tinted green by lichen. Beyond is a sea of bleach animal bones. Impossibly, the bones moan in pain, probably from the wind that passed through them.

Fry licks her lips before speaking, "Is this whole planet dead?"

A pilgrim beside Imam asks him a question in Arabic, Fry cocking a brow at him.

"He asks what could have killed so many great things…" Imam trails off, wondering as such too.

They pause a moment before sliding down the rise to the boneyard, greeted by the sand and the empty breeze. They traverse through it, weaving through the bones easily as Imam spoke.

"Some.. communal graveyard, perhaps… like the elephants of earth." Imam suggested in wonder, passing a rib larger than a house. Fry approaches one, touching the rough exterior. It appears as if something had cut it, pocked with marks.

"Long time ago, whatever happened." Johns states.

One of the pilgrims reaches a huge skull laced with baleen-like combing. Wind hits the comb, making a low moaning, and by manipulating it, he plays a dirge-like music that wafts into the breeze. He turns, wishing to show off.

"Ah…" He whispers, looking for another pilgrim to show this to, but he cannot spot him. He turns back to the skull, not noticing a face staring through the combing.

*()*()*()*

Another pilgrim is inside the skull, exploring the curves and junctures, but is chased out as Johns enters, exploring the area. He finds nothing, at first, and is about to leave when he notices— Bone-chippings littering the sand-covered ground. Johns frowns, tensing as he readies his shotgun. It could be nothing, but still. He double-checks the shadows, probing with the muzzle of his shotgun before being satisfied, exiting.

Above, Riddick is hiding in a sinus cavity, resting like a cat.

*()*()*()*

Trailing the others, Fry pauses to change out the O2 on her breather, having becoming weaker as they trekked on. Riddick drops to the ground soundlessly, arms and hands now pierced with shards of the boneyard ivory— fashionable little body talons. Spotting a shadow on the combing, she draws closer, seeing Fry alone. She licks her lips, smirking, but pauses as Johns doubles back to Fry. He takes a hit of scotch, offering her some. She can smell the alcohol on him.

"Probably makes it worse." Fry comments, "Dehydrates your even faster." She takes a drink anyway.

"Probably right." Johns smirks. Fry leans up, relaxing against the combing. Riddick cocks her head, smirking as she draws nearer to the captain, pulling out a shiv fashioned out of bone.

"You know, I woulda played road dog for these guys. You could've stayed back. Pro'bly should've— because, you know, if we don't find water…" Johns trails off. "We may not make it back."

"No, no. I wanted to get away." Fry shrugs as she takes another drink.

"So I noticed." Johns cracks, "Never seen a 'captain' quite so ready to leave her ship."

Riddick eases her blade towards Fry's neck, but unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Fry steps away.

"Better keep moving." She coughs, as if wishing to avoid the subject.

"What'd Owens mean? 'Bout not touching the switch?" Johns cocks his head. Fry stares at him, searching his eyes and wondering whether or not she can trust him. She leans back against the combing again. They were so close to seeing her, seeing Riddick. If they only turned around…

"Hey, you can tell me, Carolyn." Johns raises his hands, smiling devilishly.

"Promise me. Swear to me you won't—"

"You see anybody else here? Just between you and me."

Riddick smirks at this.

"During the landing… when things were at their worst. Owens was at his best. He's the one who wouldn't let the pilot dump the passenger cabin." Fry finally admits in a barrage of words, breathing heavily as if she had released a sin from her body.

Johns blinks, taking a step away, stunned. "Are you shittin' me?"

Riddick begins reaching out once more with her shiv, and deftly slices off some of Fry's hair… that's all she wanted.

"So… now you know." Fry shrugs, hugging her arms to herself.

"Fuck. Guess I'm more glad to be here than I thought." Johns snorts, and they begin to move off to join their group again. She watches them move, then looks toward the scotch bottle they left behind.

She licks her lips. It still has one more swallow left.

*()*()*()*

As they leave the boneyard, the scouting party reaches a cleft in the hills, beyond lies a canyon that they probably wouldn't be able to traverse with such low supplies. Johns holds up a hand, putting the scope to his eye.

"Hold up." He jumps onto a rock, frowning. "Didn't bite."

"What?" Fry stands beside him.

"Thought she might be coolin' it in the boneyard— could either double-back to the ship or slip in behind us. So I left the bottle out as bait." He pans the boneyard once more, zooming in on the bottle. It still has that one swallow left.

"But nah, didn't bite." Johns licks his lips before setting the scope down to swing freely on his neck. If he had been closer to examine the bottle, he would have noticed that the scotch had been emptied— and replaced with sand.

*()*()*()*

The sound of a shovel against sand could be heard under the shade of a tarp. Zeke is underneath, digging a communal grave for the crew of the crashed Hunter Gratzner. Three wrapped-up corpses wait nearby to be dumped inside. Zeke takes a deep breath, keeping a sight-line on the ship. He catches sight of Shazza, who waves, and he waves back. He lets out a sigh, continuing his work.

*()*()*()*

The scouting partying begins transiting a narrow canyon, differing that to the one saw earlier. Lined with rib bones, it gives the impression of being inside some great beast. Fry squints at the ridge tops. More spires are visible on the canyon rims, looming like silent sentinels. "What are they, just mineral deposits?"

"Captain… captain…" One pilgrim shouts. The Chrislams have found what appears to be a small desert plant. Fry's heart leaps into her chest in excitement, perhaps they found water! Leathery petals are spread wide, revealing a round stringy core. The Chrislams converse excitedly, but Fry waves them off.

"Wait, wait, wait…" She kneels; taking the plant and pushing the petals back down over the core. They all stare— it's a baseball.

"We are not alone here, yes?" Imam questions. They look back, wondering what awaits them. Johns is also looking back.

"Never thought we were.”

*()*()*()*

"Assalamoo aklaykum!" One pilgrim yelled as they dashed through the sand towards a settlement, echoing across the great expanse. Buildings are seen, created from stacked shipping containers. Tattered sun-shades flap in the wind. A bike lies on the ground, rusty and unmoving.

"Long gone, whoever they were." Johns comments, testing the peddle of the bike to find it almost impossible to move. They move around a building and pull up short. Before them looms a moisture-recovering unit, a hulking machine in disrepair. Dry jugs litter the ground before it, filled with sand.

"Water… there was was water here…" Imam licks his lips, stumbling over words as he and the pilgrims begin shuffling towards it.

"Allah akbar…" The pilgrims murmur.

"God is great, yes?" Imam translates, laughing.

Johns grins, "I'm born-again."

Fry manages a wry smile but soon her eyes scan the buildings, abandoned. Soon she begins exploring the empty buildings while the rest scramble over the moisture-recovery unit, assessing repairs of the device. Fry is leaning over a refectory table, inspecting the settings. Years of dust layer tables and desks. Photos hang on the walls, settlers working modest gardens, playing baseball, posing with children.

Soon she steps into a dark room, so dark she cannot see. She bites her lip, commanding the lights on. There is no response to her command, so she pats around for old-style wall switches. Finding nothing, her fingers eventually happen on black-out blinds on a window. She throws them open, to reveal… a man standing right outside. Fry jumps despite herself, but smiles as she recognizes the man.

Johns taps on the glass, smirking. "Hey. Don't go too far, huh?"

She nods in agreement, and Johns smiles back, doubling back to the devices and the scrambling Chrislams. Just as she begins to calm, something behind her creaks. She jumps, turning around at lightning speed to find…

It's an orrery, a mechanical device that shows the motion of planets revolving around their suns. It's solar powered, so the light begins to cause it to turn, creaking from disuse. One planet seems to always have sunlight, so Fry chalks that one up to be the one they crashed on.

"No darkness." Fry puts it together. "No lights because no darkness…"

She returns back out, reaching a porch. It looks over the rear of the settlement and more terrible terrain ahead. She starts back inside— but something glints at the edge of her vision. Fry turns back, parts clothes on a laundry line. She sees it again, the source of the glint. Excited, she hits on her breather and vaults off the porch. She walks, then begins running.

It's a ship; or more properly, a skiff. A light-duty vehicle of hybrid tech. Part bush-plane, part space-craft. It's fabric wings are wind-torn, but the hull looks intact.

"Allahu akbar!" She shouts, running back to the group, "Allahu Akbar!"

Johns and the Chrislams trade looks, and scramble after their captain. As soon as they reach it, they are marveled, and begin smiling. Maybe they would make it off this planet alive.

*()*()*()*

Paris is still relaxing on top of the ruined ship, more like having brunch instead of keeping watch. He begins adding caviar to toast-points, when a scrabbling sound stops Paris in mid-bite. He eases out of his rocker, moving to the rear edge of the ship and looks down on…

A shadow ducking under him. Small rocks still trickle down a dirt rampart just climbed by… someone.

"This now qualifies as the worst fun I've ever had." Paris shivered despite the heat, "Stop it."

There is no response, but Paris really doesn't wish to take any chances. War-pick in hand, he slides down the hull to ground-level. He checks the perimeter before going inside the ship, finding no one. Was he being fucked with again?

"Jack? Oh, Jack…" Paris calls, frowning.

"What?" Jack's voice comes from the cargo-hold, not where he expected. He stomps towards the hold, frowning as he enters it to find Shazza and Jack cutting open containers, searching for usable goods. Blades of sunlight stream in through the cracks in the hull.

"Tell me that was you." He almost pleads.

"Okay, it was me." Jack smirks, "What'd I do now?"

"Assailing my fragile sense of security, that's what." Paris retorts poshly, frowning at the smaller figure.

"What're you goin' on about?" Shazza stands, holding onto a bit of supplies. "He's been right here for the last…"

The all pause. They see it: sun-blades are momentarily blocked by something passing outside. Someone.

Shazza, experimentally whispers, "Zeke?"

There is no answered. Audrey springs to the other side of the hold, putting an eye to a crack there. Far away, she can make out Zeke finishing digging the grave. He begins starting toward the ship. She turns on her heel, mouthing a silent alarm: "Riddick!"

Paris goes pale, leaning back against the hull of the cargo hold. Shazza grabs the war-pick from his feeble hands, moving silently towards the main doors and poises there, ready to strike if need be. Jack follows with the hunting boomerang. All eyes watch as…

The sun-blades begin winking off and on once more, charting the figure's approach. They begin closer and closer, until he finally appears and Shazza swings hard—

"NO!" Jack shrieks as the figure comes into view; it isn't Riddick, it's a stranger. He's burned and half naked, one hand still clutching the emergency-release lever of his cryo-cell. Shazza stops one inch short of killing him.

"I thought… my god. I thought I was the only one who…" He lurches forward, perhaps to embrace Shazza, but suddenly his head is missing and brain-matter is splattering against her. The stranger slinks bonelessly to the ground. Shazza stumbles, stunned, with a horrified expression. Zeke is standing in the entrance, holding the pistol he had been given by Johns. He takes in a sharp breath, understanding what he had done.

"Oh, lord…" Paris whines.

"It was just somebody else…" Jack whispers, his voice growing. "From the crash. He was just…"

"Cripes galore, I thought it was her. The murderin' ratbag. I thought he was…" Zeke tries to explain, stumbling over words as he drops the pistol. He bends down to check the dead man. Overhead, Riddick lounges in Paris' rocker, taking a hit of sherry, smiling wickedly to herself.

 

*()*()*()*

Fry exits the skiff, cursing. "No juice, looks like it's been laid up for years. But we might be able to adapt—"

"Shut up."

Outside the skiff, Johns has an ear cocked to the wind. Fry frowns at being interrupted, but allows him a moment.

"Sorry, thought I heard something." He shrugs.

"Like what?" Fry asks as she stands beside him.

"Like gunshots." Johns replies wryly, standing.

*()*()*()*

Corpse number four, the stranger's being dragged behind Zeke as he reaches the community grave. The sun-tarp has fallen on one side, blocking the sight-line between the ship and the grave. Zeke starts to unload the body— but sees something he hasn't notices before. Some sort of opening at the bottom of the grave.

Kneeling, Zeke approaches it, frowning. "Now what the bloody hell…"

Zeke hops down into the grave, Riddick hidden among the spires. Zeke lands on all fours, looking into the tunnel. There seems to be some kind of burrow beyond it. He takes a hand light off his belt, shining it into the burrow. It's the last thing he ever sees.

*()*()*()*

Gunshots scream into the air, jarring Paris, Jack, and Shazza who remain by the ship. Zeke is fighting for his life, blasting his pistol at something that slashes at him from the opening, blood spraying and dancing in the air. Shazza sprints across the hard-packed desert sand, chest heaving as she arrives at the grave. She pulls aside the tarp to find…

Riddick. Bone-shiv in hand, she stands on the other side of the grave. She's clean of blood, even the blade at her side is still stark-white and ivory. She's sweating, glistening in the strange blue sun, almost inhuman in appearance. Shaken, Shazza takes a step back as her eyes fall on the grave, and screams.

*()*()*()*

She begins loping, Riddick, through the spires as if running from the scene of a crime. She turns a blind corner, and something nearly blows her head off at closer range— Johns. She hits the ground, struggling as Johns begins to rip the goggles from her head. She shrieks in pain as the sun stabs at her eyes.

"Same crap, different planet, huh?" She hears Johns snort, but his words are drowned out as a woman stomps towards them.

"What'd you do with 'im?!" She shrieks, and Riddick identifies her as the prospector woman. "You bloody sick animal, YOU BITCH! What did YOU DO WITH ME ZEKE?!"

Maybe Johns tried to hold her back; Riddick couldn't tell. But a good couple stomps to the head brings Riddick into the recesses of the darkness she longed for.

They chained her up back at the ship. Same shit, different planet all right. She didn't struggle when the woman hauled in and tried to beat the shit out of her; their beloved captain came in to stop it. She licked the blood from her lips, glowing eyes resting on the floor.

*()*()*()*

They were standing over the grave, which was more like a blender at this point. It was a mess, blood and flesh torn up, staining the sand below. No sign of Zeke. Johns takes out the shiv he confiscated from Riddick, showing it to Fry.

"She used that?" She commented, taking the blade in her fingers gently.

"Lady Shiv-A-Lot. She likes to cut." He licks his lips.

"So, why isn't it all bloody?" She cocks her head, handing it back to him.

"I assume she licked it clean." He shrugged, turning back to the ship.

*()*()*()*

Fry enters the ship, giving Riddick a hard stare. Her face is still bleeding and pulpy from the beating she got from Shazza, but it's little compared to what Riddick's been used to. She blinks, eyes glowing like lamplights in the dark. Fry licks her lips nervously, eyeing the chains.

"So, where is he?" Fry asks, voice strong despite her fear.

She turns away, and when Fry walks towards the direction Riddick looks, finds her eyes closed. For whatever reason, Riddick won't look at her.

"Tell me about the sounds. You told Johns you heard something right before…" Fry pauses to let Riddick speak, but she doesn't. "If you don't talk to me, I suppose I can let Shazza come back in."

That did something, perhaps in the wrong way that it was meant. She finds that Riddick is smiling, which seems to hurt her, but she doesn't stop. "'Mean the whispers?"

Fry pauses, taking a step back to lean against a crate. "What whispers?"

"The ones tellin' me to go for the sweet spot— just to the left of the spine, fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta. What a great gusher. Had a cup on his belt, so I used it to catch a little run-off. Metallic taste to it, human blood." Riddick cocks her head, licking her lips. She gets sick pleasure from hearing the captain squirm from the description, her voice rumbling and low. "Coppery. But if you cut it with a little peppermint schnapps, that goes away. Course, that's more for winter. Summertime, I take mine straight."

Fry stares, shocked, before shaking her head. "Why don't we try the truth now?"

Riddick cocks her head, studying the captain before letting another smirk free. "All you people are so scared of me— and most days, I'd take that as a compliment. But it ain't me you gotta worry 'bout now."

Fry pauses, "Show me your eyes."

Riddick turns away again, smirking all the while. She sits, eyes shut, anticipating pain to come but finds nothing. She tilts her head, almost inviting the pain, but again. Nothing.

"Show me, Riddick." Her voice is now demanding.

Coughing out a laugh, she finally opens her eyes. Slowly, like a virgin undressing for the first time. No irises, just huge black-pool pupils. And from within, a jewel-like eyeshine. Her eyes are beautiful and unsettling as those of a starved jaguar.

Fry takes a step back, those gleaming and alien eyes tracking her movements. "You did this? To yourself?"

She lets out a barking laugh, "Slam doctor. Well, we called him "doctor"."

"Heard about it." Fry admits, relaxing against the crate once more. "Just never seen it."

"Fairly fuckin' ironic, wouldn't you say? Slam light's so dim that you go and get your eyeballs taken out and shined up— then you wind up here. Three ass-kick suns." Riddick snorts. "Maybe I did do a few people. But not this one. No ma'am, not this time."

"Then where is he?" Fry leans down, "He's not in the hole. We looked."

She clicks her tongue at Fry.

"Look deeper."

*()*()*()*

Chains looped around one shoulder, Fry begins heading back to the grave site. Johns, Imam, Shazza, and Jack keep pace as Johns and the captain argue.

"I know what happened— she went off on the guy, buried him on the hill somewhere, and now she's trying to—" Johns began.

"Let's just be sure." Fry interrupts him, frowning.

"I am sure." He sighs, "Look, murders aside, Riddick belongs in the asshole's hall of fame. She loves the jaw-jackin', loves making you afraid. 'Cuz that's all she has. And you're playing right into—"

"We're gonna find the body, Johns." Fry jerks towards him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Christ, you're a cop. Why am I tellin' you this? We gotta go down and find it."

"Well, don't ask me to." Johns raises his hands.

"Thought you didn't believe her story." Fry comments, snorting.

"I don't." Johns cocks a brow, "But that ground looked none-too-stable, and I don't want anyone—"

"If you're afraid, I'll go." Jack pipes up, earning a scowl from Johns.

"Nobody else is going down but me, okay?" Fry interjects before being pulled aside by Johns.

"Hey, bein' ballsy with your life now doesn't change what came before." He whispers harshly. "It's just stupid."

Fry brushes him off, frowning. "What, you think I'm doin' this to prove something?"

Johns takes a step back, throwing up his hands. "You said it, not me. Let's just not let one bad call lead to another."

Fry takes a deep breath, "Thanks for the tip, Johns. Now get outta my way."

*()*()*()*

It's a few minutes into Fry's spelunking when Jack is lounging the sand when he hears it—the screaming. He stands, waving the group over as he hears Fry's yelling, pleading for help. They quickly launch into action, using a pick-axe to break the spire. It buckles easily under the pressure, and they catch sight of a battered and panicking Fry.

They pull her up, birthing her back into the daylight as she shivers.

"We got you, it's okay." Johns says, "We got you now…"

"The child heard you before any of us could even…" Imam began.

"Did you find him? You find Zeke?" Shazza whispered hastily.

"W-Wasn't Riddick… it was… it was… goddamn, that was stupid… But it wasn't her, it wasn't Riddick. Somethin' else down there that got Zeke and nearly got m—" Fry explains, suddenly flying back towards the opening of the spire. She shrieks, screaming for them to cut it off her. Imam scrambles for his blade, slicing through Fry's belt and setting her free. The belt zips back down the spire, and shrieks of those alien creatures are heard.

*()*()*()*

They're beginning to pack up on the essentials, or at least what qualifies to be. O2, liquor, umbrellas, the Koran. Amid the activity, Jack pauses to look at the spired hills.

*()*()*()*

Fry and Imam pull a power cell from the ship's battery bay, thumping it down on the deck.

"One is all?" Imam questions.

"For now." Fry confirms as they drag it from the bay.

*()*()*()*

At his personal locker, Johns digs out a box of shotgun shells, bypassing the blue-metal shells for a red-metal pack. He takes a careful glance at them, and packs all of them, blue-metal shells included. He makes his way back to the Main Cabin where Riddick is held.

Riddick senses the shadow over her, but she doesn't look up. She cracks a smile. "Found somethin' worse than me, huh?"

"We're movin'. And I'm just wondering if I shouldn't lighten the load right now." Johns comments. Riddick lifts her head, alien ones locking with blue ones when Johns ratchets his shotgun and points it at Riddick's head.

"Woof, woof." She hisses sarcastically. The barrel goes off, exploding, but luckily not destroying her head. The shells blew off the chains from her wrists, albeit more violent than necessary.

"Want you to remember this moment, Riddick." Johns hisses, "The way it coulda gone and didn't."

"Say again?" She cocks her head, feigning deafness.

"Here's the deal." His eyes trail over her form, "You work without the chains, without the bit— without the shivs. You help us get off this rock…"

"For what?" She retorts, rubbing her wrists. She's still sitting in the chair, blood dried on her fingers and lips. "The honor of goin' back to some asshole of a cell?"

Johns lets out a sigh, cocking his head. "Truth is, Riddick, I'm tired of this head-up shit. I wanna be free of you as much as you wanna be free of me."

There is a beat of pause. She licks her lips, glancing up at him with those glowing eyes. She envisions it, a future rearranging in her head. She wants to believe it, but of course, she doubts.

"You'd cut me loose, Johns?" She asks, a laugh in her deep voice.

"Only if we both get outta this alive. And there may be a way." Johns admits, smirking at her. He offers a hand to help her up, to seal the deal.

"My recommendation: Do me. Don't take the chance that I'll get shiv-happy on your wannabe ass. Ghost me, Johns. Would if I were you." She stares at that hand, a frown on her lips.

"If you were me, I'd kill us both. C'mon, you wanna sit at the grown-up table or not?" Johns' voice is playful, hand still offered.

There's one more pause, and Riddick slowly begins raising her hand. Like lightning, she grabs the shotgun with her offhand. In a blur, she's standing, the barrel of the gun pointed between Johns' eyes. He raises his hands, pale. Riddick cocks her head, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Want you to remember this moment. And how it coulda gone but didn't." She pumps the gun, spitting red shells over Johns. She steps forward into his personal space, nose tracing his collarbone and taking in his scent before she forces the weapon into Johns' hand, stepping over the shells and out the door.

Johns shakes his head, taking a deep breath. "What a woman."

*()*()*()*

The blue sun is setting, yellow and red taking its place over the horizon. The survivors are trekking once more, in the direction of the abandoned settlement. Fry and Imam lug the power-cell between them, but the real load is shouldered by—

Riddick. Promoted from monster to beast of burden, she tows a drag-sled heavy with cargo. She seems not to mind, despite her teeth being clenched with effort. She has the muscle for it too, but not detrimental to her appearance. She looks somewhat Amazonian, strange and wild.

"So, just like that." Paris whispers to Johns, "Wave your little wand and she's one of us now."

"Didn't say that. But least this way I don't have to worry about falling asleep and not wakin' up." Johns shrugs, amused by Paris' fear.

"Well, I feel we owe Miss Riddick amends." Imam suggests humbly, receiving a look of annoyance from Shazza.

"Oh, right. Let's all line up and beg her forgiveness." Shazza rolls her eyes, "Right you are."

"At least give the woman some oxygen…" Imam turns back, glancing at the woman in question. She's heaving in breaths of the thin air, sweat pouring down her arms, she gives no sign that she's been listening to their conversation, but she has the whole time.

"She's happy just bein' vertical." Johns snorts, "Leave her be."

"So, I can talk to her now?" Jack asks excitedly.

Johns and Shazza exchange looks, and in unison: "No."

Paris, who was about to open up a wine bottle and accidentally dropped it, ran back to retrieve it when it was picked up by the notorious Riddick. Shaking, he watched as she opened it up, unable to read her eyes behind the dark goggles.

"P-Paris P. Ogilvie. Antiquities Dealer, entrepreneur." He shakes as he introduces himself, offering a hand. Riddick smirks, grabbing his hand with unnecessary force and shaking it.

"Rachel B. Riddick. Escaped convict, murderer." She replied, and tilted her head back as she drank the entire bottle down. Paris sagged as she did so, scrambling back towards the group.

*()*()*()*

"I mean, usually I can appreciate antiques, but, uh…" Paris comments as he takes in the glory that was the Skiff. The survivors had reached the settlement. Fry trying to get the power-cell aboard the skiff as the others walk its exterior.

"Little ratty-ass…" Johns commented, causing Paris to be unsure whether he was talking about himself or the ship.

"Nothing we can't repair. So long as the electrical adapts." Fry comments.

"Not a star-jumper." Shazza pats the hull of the skiff.

"Doesn't need to be." Riddick replies, causing everyone to jump as she made her existence known. "Use this to get back to the Sol-Track Shipping Lanes. Stick out a thumb. You'll get picked up."

She turns to Fry, who looks flabbergasted, "Right?"

Fry shakes her head, turning to Johns with the expression "How did she know that?" Johns shakes his head, laughing as he follows Riddick towards the power cell to help muscle it aboard. Johns blocks her, and Riddick takes the hint that she's not wanted inside.

"Check those containers for me." He nudges her. They've only ever been in such close quarters a few times. Johns notices her smelling him, nose flared. It was a strange habit of hers, but he's never minded too much. It was flattering, and he loved the chase, the challenge he brought to her. He licks his lips, the action being trailed by her eyes. "See what we can patch the wings with."

She doesn't give a hint that she heard him. She simply walks to the containers, but doesn't check them. She leans against them, the wind tickling her ears. Johns watches her, shaking his head. He's had these romantic urges before. Now wasn't the right time.

She senses him watching her, smirking. "Soon, Johns?"

"What?" He chokes a bit.

"How soon is that dinner you're takin' me to?" She laughs.

Johns shakes his head, "When this is all over."

"Promise me?" She turns, her voice dropping an octave. He also believes she's serious.

He sighs. "I promise."

 


End file.
